CHAPTER TENTH.

MISS DRUETT.

CERTAINLY Miss Priscilla was disturbed "by ordinary," as Miss Jessy would have said, or she would never have gone up to bed leaving Calista below. Usually she was driven off to her room with about as much ceremony as a cow dismissed to her night's lodging. While she was setting back her chair, and wondering whether she ought to go round and see to the fastenings of doors and windows—a ceremony usually performed by Miss Druett with great care and minuteness—Miss Druett herself entered the room. She looked pale and tired, and Calista thought she had been crying, but her eyes were as bright and her lips as firm and resolute as ever.

"So you are here alone!" said she. "I heard Priscilla in her room, and I thought I would come down and see to the fastenings."

"Thank you ever so much," said Calista. "I was just wondering what I ought to do about it; and to tell you the truth," she added, lowering her voice, "I did not quite fancy the task of going round alone, for I could not help thinking there was someone prying about the house this evening."

"Indeed! What reason had you for thinking so? But never mind now. You shall tell me up stairs in my room, for I want a little talk with you before you go to bed. Meantime, if you are not afraid, you can go round with me and hold the light."

"Who will do this when you are gone?" said Calista, struck with the thought as Miss Druett tried the fastening of bolt and bar in the great dusky kitchen.

Miss Druett sighed. "I don't know who will do a great many things," said she. "I fear Priscilla will miss me more than she thinks."

"She missed you enough this evening, I am sure of that," said Calista. "She almost cried because there was no one to play cribbage with her. I offered to try to learn, but I think I must be very stupid, for I could make nothing of it. However, she did not scold me, and it helped to pass away a part of the time."

"Cribbage is a very intricate game, and Priscilla never had any faculty of teaching. I think, Calista, if you are not tired, we will go through the cellars—all at least that are unlocked. I should like to make sure of them."

"What a castle of a place it is!" said Calista, holding up her light and surveying the long gallery, floored with brick, and with heavy doors opening on either hand. "It looks like something in an old romance. What is in all these cellars, Miss Druett?"

"Nothing at all in most of them," answered Miss Druett. "There is some silver plate and china packed away in this one, and a good deal of valuable wine in that further one, at the end of the hall."

"Here is a door bricked up," said Calista. "What is that?"

"That is another small wine-cellar which has a history," answered Miss Druett. "When your father was born, your grandfather had just received a quantity of very fine Madeira, which had made the voyage to India. He ordered two small casks to be placed in this cellar and built up as you see, saying that one should be opened on his son's marriage, and the other at the weaning of his eldest child."

"And it has staid there, undisturbed, all this time," said Calista. "Father and grandfather are both gone, but the wine stays on. Perhaps it is just as well there as anywhere else. I sometimes think so much wine drinking is not very desirable."

"More people than you are beginning to think so," said Miss Druett. "Well, as everything is safe for the night, we may leave these old vaults to the centipedes and the efts." "Affets" she called them.

"See, there is one now!" said Calista, pointing out the little red lizard running up the wall. "Are affets poison, Miss Druett?"

"I don't know, child. I never ate one," answered Miss Druett, absently. Then, as Calista laughed,—"I do not know what I am saying. No, I don't think any lizards are venomous, though, I dare say, they might bite, like other creatures, if alarmed or provoked. Are you very tired? Do you want to go to bed directly?"

"No, ma'am," answered Calista. "Not if I can do anything for you."

"Come into my room and sit down a little. I have something to say to you, and I may not have another chance."

Calista obeyed.

The usually neat room was not disorderly—for nothing about Miss Druett could be that—but disarranged. A great trunk, nearly filled, stood open at the foot of the bed; a picture, which had always hung above the fireplace, was taken down; and some books were missing from their places. Miss Druett cleared a chair for Calista and took another herself, but she did not seem in a hurry to begin the conversation.

"Are you really going, Miss Druett?" asked Calista, presently, seeing that she did not speak.

"I have no choice, child, as things are at present. I have borne a great deal from Priscilla, and if I staid, I should, no doubt, bear a great deal more; but you must see yourself that I cannot remain in her house after she has ordered me out of it."

"Of course not. I only wonder that you should have staid so long."

"Well, your grandfather and Priscilla's mother were kind to me when I was an orphan and poor, and Priscilla and I were friends in youth. Latterly I have had another reason for staying. You heard what your aunt said, this morning, about your father." And Miss Druett blushed a vivid carnation blush, which gave an almost unearthly lustre to her dark eyes.

"I heard it," said Calista, "but I thought it was, perhaps, only one of the spiteful things she says when she gets angry."

"It was true," said Miss Druett. "I am going to tell you a little of my own history, Calista. It will help you to understand some things which must have seemed strange to you."

"I was left alone in the world at a very early age. My mother, who was a relation of the first Mrs. Stanfield, was clandestinely married to a British officer of high rank and small principle, at the time that New York was occupied by the British. When the city was evacuated, she was left alone, with a young baby, and no dependence but the old father whose heart she had broken, and who was sinking into his grave. General Stanfield, then recently married, found her out in her darkest hour of trouble. She was then alone in the world, sinking in a decline, having sacrificed everything to a man who cared for nothing but the amusement of a passing hour. Calista, whatever you do, never make a secret marriage."

"I never mean to marry at all," pronounced Calista, with all the confidence of sixteen.

"Of course not," said Miss Druett, dryly; "girls like you never do. To go on with my story: General Stanfield sent his cousin and her child home to the old house here. My mother revived with the change of air and the generous diet, and lived till I was about five and Priscilla twelve years old. Yes, there was all that difference in our ages, yet we were constant companions and friends.

"It was not a happy household. Two people less fitted to live together than General and Mrs. Stanfield were, perhaps, never united. He was open-hearted, liberal to a fault, fond of gayety, and much given to hospitality, both to rich and poor. She was proud and reserved, standing much on her dignity, very strict and narrow in all her notions, and as fond of saving as Priscilla herself. It was she who taught Priscilla to regard economy as an end, not a means. To save the consumption of a candle or an ounce of butter; to make a sixpence stretch as far as a shilling; to keep the whole household on half rations when the General went away—these were the triumphs of which she was most proud, and for which she lived. I heard her say once that she meant to save something for herself and Priscilla when the General was dead. But she died long before him.

"Priscilla mourned her sincerely; but she found consolation in walking in her mother's steps. But her reign was not a long one. In less than two years the General brought home another bride, not so very much older than Priscilla herself. She was a sweet, gentle, pretty creature, but she was not a fool by any means. She had a great deal of steady principle, and was very religious. She would go to church every Sunday, and read the Bible, both alone and with the servants. At first she had both the General and Priscilla against her; but latterly the General was won to go to church with her once on Sunday; and, though he never made any profession of Christianity, I think his feelings toward it were a good deal softened before he died.

"A cousin of my poor mother's, who had a good and popular school in Philadelphia, wrote, offering to give me an education, and General Stanfield accepted the offer for me. I staid with her ten years; first as pupil, then as teacher; till she died and the school was broken up. My cousin ought to have left a good fortune; but she was unfortunate and lost a good deal of money. The estate was divided, and all that fell to my share was a small house, a little way out of Philadelphia, and about a hundred dollars. Priscilla wrote for me to come to her, and I came. At this time, Richard—your father—was a gay young man, in college, coming home for his vacations, and turning his father and every one else—except Priscilla—round his finger, by his winning and coaxing ways. Even Priscilla herself was won by him while he was present, though she hated him when he was away."

"Why did she hate him?" asked Calista.

"Principally because he was extravagant and your grandfather indulged him in every whim. I cannot dwell on that part of it," said Miss Druett, with that vivid blush again. "He never cared for me. I don't suppose he ever imagined that I could care for him. I would have laid down my life for him, but he did not want it. I never supposed that even Priscilla suspected me till this afternoon. I had a long illness, and when I rose up from it, I was a soured, hardened, elderly woman.

"Then came the news of your father's death. Priscilla kept it to herself for a long time; your grandfather never knew it at all."

"Why didn't you tell him?" asked Calista.

"Because I did not know it myself. Priscilla always made a point of going to the office herself, and all the letters went through her hands. The first I ever heard of the event was when one of your mother's cousins wrote of her death. Your grandfather had been dead about six months then; and one day, to my utter amazement, Priscilla said to me,—

"'Druey, I am going to bring home that girl of Richard Stanfield's. A child like that won't cost much to keep, and when she grows up, she can be useful in the house. I want you to go and bring her here.'

"'Why, where are her parents?' was my natural question.

"And then, for the first time, I learned that Richard Stanfield and his wife were both dead.

"You know the rest of it. Do you remember anything that happened before you came?"

"Sometimes I do and sometimes not," answered Calista. "I have a kind of shadowy recollection of my mother, as a pale lady, in black, who used to dress dolls for me, and who taught me to say 'Gentle Jesus' and 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' I remember a sickly, lame little boy I used to play with sometimes, and an old lady I used to call Aunt Malvina. I recollect her perfectly. She was feeble, and I don't believe she was rich; but I was very happy with her. I thought of her to-day, when I saw those trunks. Oh, Miss Druett, I do think it is too bad that I cannot have my mother's things."

"It is a very hard case, I admit," said Miss Druett. "You had better consult Mr. Settson about the matter."

"But, Miss Druett, I can never stay here without you," said Calista. "You are the only friend I have ever had."

"And I have not always been very good to you—have I?"

"Yes, I think you have—only you do say dreadfully sharp, hard things sometimes. But you are not like Aunt Priscilla; and I am sure I can never live alone with her. I should be afraid. Do you think she can be a little insane?"

"No; no more insane than any person is who gives herself up to the dominion of one idea and the pursuit of one object," said Miss Druett. "She is sharp enough about business matters."

"She said, to-night, she had never been into grandfather's room since his funeral," said Calista. "Do you think it can be true?"

"I presume it is. She has an extreme dread of death, and everything connected with it. Did you go in? I thought I heard you."

Calista related what had taken place, and added that her aunt had given her permission to finish her term at school.

"I dare say she will take it back," she added. "She will want me to stay at home and cut carpet-rags."

"You had better say nothing on the subject, but take the permission for granted, and go as usual," said Miss Druett. "I want you to do several little things for me in town. But now, to finish my story: It seems that my father, Colonel Druett, had his conscience awakened in his latter days, and by his will left a few hundred pounds to his child and a small annuity to his wife. His brother, who was his heir, never took any steps to execute this part of the will; but his nephew was more honest or less indolent. He took pains to inquire me out, a few years ago, and actually sent me not only the five hundred pounds which was my due, but two hundred more on account of the annuity which my mother should have received. So that I have a reasonable provision for my old age."

"I wonder you should have staid on here under the circumstances," said Calista. "Why did you?"

"Why, for several reasons. I am attached to Priscilla, with all her faults, and know that I am necessary to her; and I remember old kindness at the hands of her parents; and besides all this," said Miss Druett, with that sudden, lightning-like smile which so transformed her face, "there was a certain wayward girl who had somehow contrived to win her way into my heart in spite of me, and I staid to look after her. And now I come to what I want to say particularly. I have, as I told you, a small house in the outskirts of Philadelphia. If I can get it into my own hands without too much sacrifice, I shall do so. Then, will you come and live with me, Calista? No, don't answer now," as Calista sprang up and threw her arms around her neck. "Take time to think about it. It may involve a good deal. You know Priscilla has all this property absolutely in her hands, and can leave it to whom she pleases. The property has greatly increased in value with the advance of rents, and she must leave a large fortune, supposing she does not lose everything in some wild speculation, which is not at all unlikely."

"Do you think so?" asked Calista, surprised.

"She has already spent hundreds of dollars on lottery tickets," said Miss Druett, "and would have spent more but for my influence. She wasted nearly as much with those miserable treasure-seekers, and is likely to do it again. I fear leaving her here alone. It is time for you to go to bed now. I will give you some money to lay out for me in the morning; and I should like to have you tell Mr. Settson of my plan, and ask him what he thinks about it. There, good-night, child, and God bless you. I have not made you as happy as I might, but at least you know the worst of me."

The next morning Calista prepared for school as usual, and then went to Miss Druett, who gave her a list of commissions and directions.

"They will take you some time, but I dare say you won't mind. Only, if you walk home, don't come by the river road. It is too lonely for you; and I don't fancy having you encounter Zeke or his wife. Here, you may buy yourself something with that," handing her a silver dollar—the very first Calista had ever owned.

"How nice!" exclaimed Calista. "Now I can have something of my own to give away."

Miss Druett smiled and sighed.

"Richard Stanfield, all over," said she.

"You don't mind, do you, Miss Druett?"

"No, no, child; use it in the way that will give you most pleasure. There, go; I hear Priscilla calling you. If she asks what we were talking about, you can tell her."

"Where are you going, child?" was Miss Priscilla's first question.

"To school, aunt. You said, last night, I was to finish the term."

"Humph! Mind, I didn't say anything about another. What did Druey want of you?"

"She wants me to buy her some handkerchiefs and a travelling bag and an umbrella, and to tell the man about her trunk. David took it in when he went to market."

"And did she give you the money?"

"Yes, aunt."

Miss Priscilla groaned. "Well, there, go along, child; and tell Chloe to bring me my breakfast. Does she mean to make me wait all day? But nobody cares what becomes of me. I suppose I shall starve when Druey is gone."

"Perhaps she will stay, aunt, if you ask her," said Calista, secretly hoping she would not; for the prospect of going to live with Miss Druett, in the little house with the garden and orchard, had already taken very strong hold on her imagination.

"Mind your own business," snarled Miss Priscilla. "There, never mind, child. Go along and send Chloe with my breakfast. And perhaps when you come home, you will look in that room again. You might find something else. Some people are lucky in finding things."

"Very well, aunt. I have no objection, if you wish it," said Calista, thinking again of the possibility of finding her grandfather's will. "Only, I am afraid you will accuse me of stealing again, as you did about the working-case."

"No, no, I won't. Here, you may have the working-case, if you like; only, don't lose it. It was your grandmother's, and perhaps she might be pleased—there, do go and send up my breakfast."

"Two presents from my aunt in two days—what is going to happen?" said Calista to herself. "Oh, how much I have had to think about! It seems a year since I went to school yesterday morning. How odd that she should speak in that way of my grandmother's being pleased, when she does not believe in any existence after death!"